Chocoholic
by Black Rose Heart
Summary: The bittersweet tale of a closet addict hoping his love realizes his feelings before its too late… USUK. depressed!America in parts. PruHun, Spamano, Greece/Turkey, NiChu, AusSwiss and DenNor if you have a telescope. Gakuen AU
1. 1: Introduction

A/N: This is my first piece of writing I deem as "good". I'm surprised the others got positive reviews because when I reread them I have a little "Oh my holy god, I let that get published?" moment. Thanks to all you who thought I did a good job, but here's where the real stuff kicks in. Shoot me a review as the whether it should have fluff or smut, I wrote both XD

Oh! I do not own the italicized song lyrics, that's _Dirty Little Secret _by the All-American Rejects. Love the song, and I was listening to it when I wrote it, Not as many lyrics in upcoming chapetrs, but it is going to be stuck in Alfred's head for a bit.

* * *

Chocoholic:

The bittersweet tale of a closet addict hoping his love realizes his feelings before its too late…

The corner of Broad and Marie hosted a small convenience store with the typical logo depicting a large number 7 and the word "eleven" written on it in trademarked colors, with a clean glass storefront and a sign that proclaimed that indeed, the shop was open and would remain that way for the rest of the night. A red pickup truck pulled up outside, slowing to a stop on the rough pavement, the bumper reflecting lights which illuminated the American flag proudly stuck to the back. A slightly rumpled, blond-haired man wearing a sweatshirt and jeans with ragged tennis shoes poking out from underneath the hems, got out and slammed the car door shut, locking the doors with a click of his remote. He pushed open the doors and searched around until he came across a display of chocolate bars. A voice sang from the radio of the small store, lost amid the hum of the refrigerators and barely audible.

_Let me know that I've done wrong_

_When I've know this all along_

_I go around a time or two _

_Just to waste my time with you_

Unwaveringly and without hesitation, he took the entire box from the shelf. The minimum wage worker behind the counter had seen stranger behavior and barely glanced up from her copy of a popular tabloid depicting celebrities and their scandals except to ring up the purchase and complete the transaction. The customer muttered a quick "thank you" before leaving. As he returned to the cracked leather seat of his vehicle, turning his keys and switching into gear, a melody leaked out of his lips.

_Tell me all that you've thrown away_

_Find out games you don't wanna play_

_You are the only one that needs to know_

After driving several miles, the car stopped in front of a small suburban rancher with an ill-kept lawn sporting several high oak trees. The engine switched off and the man jumped out with his bounty in hand, still humming the tune of the song.

_I'll keep you, my dirty little secret_

His hands fumbled for the keys in the dark, finally finding the right one and sliding it into the lock. There was the click of the deadbolt and the faded green door swung open, allowing it's owner passage into his dwelling. Among the stacks of papers, video games and his curious cat that he spared a scratch on the head, a brown leather couch floated among the debris like an island of relief. The man sighed as he flung himself in a well-executed jump onto the sofa, his bag of chocolate still in hand.

_Who has to know?_

_When we live such fragile lives_

_It's the best way to survive_

He tore open the wrapper of the first bar and gobbled it down quickly, as with the second and the third. On the fourth he broke it in half and sucked on it, allowing it to melt slightly before chewing it up and gulping it down. His cat looked up at his troubled master, the puff of black fur around its neck springing about as he jumped on the couch.

_Life is a lot like chocolate, _he thought, _it never lasts, it's great until it ends, and it leaves you with a bittersweet taste. _His mind turned to the thought of emerald eyes, and he choked back sobs as the wrapper of his fifth bar landed on the ground.

_I'll keep you my dirty little secret_

_Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret_

_My dirty little secret_

The fifth bar disappeared as quickly as the first. The sixth was chewed up and allowed to turn to liquid before being swallowed, coating the palate with a sweet, delicious taste. _Love is like getting a piece of chocolate, but if you're too afraid of it disappearing to take a bite you've lost it forever. Once you turn away, it's gone and taken its business elsewhere. _

_These sleeping thoughts won't lie_

_And all I've tried to hide_

_It's eating me apart_

_Trace this life out_

The seventh bar was slowly melted square by square, allowing some cognitive processes to move on. _Chocolate, it's like everything in the world in a tiny bar. I want more. I'm just greedy I guess, but I don't think anyone will blame me. _A tear emerged at the corner of his eye. _Damn. _

_I'll keep you my dirty little secret_

_Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret_

_My dirty little secret_

_Dirty little secret_

A few more silver drops of sorrow trickled down his cheeks, falling onto the wrappers of past indulgences. _If only my problems stopped with a chocolate obsession, damn it all._

_Dirty little secret_

_Who has to know?_

He got up; discarding of the wrappers into an overflowing trashcan, shutting the top best he could and collapsing back in the sofa, face down on a pillow, staining it with tears. _Not like they'd know, I guess I'm so oblivious no one thinks it's out of the ordinary for me. I hide everything, what am I expecting? I've only got until the end of term before I'll leave forever, and what am I doing? Crying my eyes out after eating chocolate. _He hugged the pillow tighter.

_Who has to know?_

_I'll clean out the house tomorrow; today's just my self-pity day. Then it's back to normal. _He took a deep breath and pulled a blanket from the edge of the armrest over himself. _Goodnight. Here's to a tomorrow of angst, sorrow and disappointment… _The cat sympathetically nuzzled his chin and curled up next to him, his ears tickling the nose of Alfred F. Jones, closet chocoholic and unrequited lover of Arthur Kirkland.

_I'll keep you, my dirty little secret… _Alfred fell asleep with the tune on his lips.


	2. 2: The Assignment

_Friday, Hetalia International Academy, 8:45_

_BRRRRIIIING! _The arrival bell rang throughout of the campus of Hetalia International, signaling the students who were arriving late that they had 5 minutes to get to class. The red pickup parked in a lot across from the towering gates of one of the most prestigious academies near D.C. A blond with a stubborn cowlick and square framed glasses, wearing the school uniform hopped out of the car, an egg Mc B*scuit in his mouth and his schoolbag in hand. Slinging the bag quickly over one shoulder, senior Alfred F. Jones, quarterback of the football team, star hitter of the baseball team, holder of four track records and not too bad at basketball either ran for the polished buildings of his high school. Flags of all the different nations flew in the spring breeze outside the school, waving to the American teen as he dashed across the grounds.

_Of all the days…and to have Honors World History with Mr. Adnan first thing, he hates stragglers. _Alfred thought as he blasted though the long halls lit by morning light, up glass staircases and around tall pillars, somehow managing to not run into fellow laggards. He wished he had some sweet, delicious, bittersweet chocolate to help him get through the morning. Chocolate was more understanding and accepting than his Turkish teacher.

When he reached classroom 700, he opened the door so quickly that the boy leaning on it moments barely had time to form a reaction past yelling "Bloody hell!" before falling onto an equally surprised American who promptly caught him.

After a second of pause, the Brit straightened and dusted off his uniform's jacket, glaring now at the panting, blond teen whose glasses lay askew on his nose. He scoffed, "You just have to arrive late and make a big entrance every single day, don't you, Jones? And fix your shirt; it seems like a crime to have let a mess like you into this beautiful learning establishment."

"Come on, President Kirkland, the hero is always late," Alfred huffed, trying not to care about those scornful emerald eyes, that adorable peeved expression, "and I'm here before the bell, which means I'm on time. Maybe certain SCA presidents shouldn't lean on doors that open outwards." He threw a smirk at his classmate, to be rewarded with his cheeks reddening slightly in rage.

"Not only your manners, but your grammar is also atrocious, Jones!" Insults flowed like water as the two started fighting.

The rest of the classroom was more than accustomed to the constant bickering of the two, with Elizaveta and her friend Kiku making bets on who would win today's argument, Ivan just smiling in a slasher-smile kind of way while watching Eduard finish his homework and about twenty other students milling around and ignoring the fight. Old maps on the walls gave off a sense of antiquity even among the throng of students.

As soon as the bell finished ringing, proclaiming the start of a school day, Mr. Adnan, the Turkish history teacher walked into the room, holding his morning cup of coffee

"All right, you rambunctious lunatics! Sit down, another day has started. You two especially, Jones and Kirkland. If you two argued anymore, I'd think you were married!" Laughter erupted from the classroom as the enemies sat down, one blushing but the other with a winning smile on his face. Their unfortunate last names meant they sat right next to each other. "Now that that's settled, turn to page 110 in your books and let's read what the significance of the Iliad was. Now, as the Trojan forces fought a noble battle, let's not forget that, since they almost won," a bit of the teacher's pride in his heritage sprung through his speech, "however, Mr. Karpuci in room 701 feels that the Greeks were winning most of the way. So, anyone have anything to support or disprove this?"

As always, three hands went up immediately, Arthur's, Kiku's, and Yao's. Kiku and Yao immediately glared at each other, the rivalry between them only matched by that between the British and American sparring team. Mr. Adnan just sighed. "Yes, Arthur?"

"Well, as Homer writes…" Alfred, sitting beside the overachieving Brit, sighed and rolled his eyes behind his glasses, as if to say _here we go again, _earning him a glare from the Londoner. Secretly, he just enjoyed the voice of the president of the student body, with that incredibly sexy accent explaining the brilliance of the Trojan horse, "…but Aeneas acted uneducated, fighting off all the forces without proper preparation…"

This caught Alfred's ear. Any name of a hero, even one of an Ancient Greek war, sparked his interest. He decided to interrupt this stupid tirade of Arthur's. Speaking up, he cut off the English boy, "Aeneas may have acted without knowing everything, but by taking a risk he managed to become famous for his bravery and courage."

If looks could kill, Alfred would have been long dead. Arthur continued on, "But some of the worst defeats in military history, like the Charge of the Light Brigade, failed because of insufficient intelligence, and wouldn't you know about uneducated minds, Jones?" Arthur bit back.

Alfred maintained his nonchalance, enjoying the annoyance of his rival. He was fairly sure his knowledge of "military history" far surpassed Arthur's; he had gotten into this school for a reason, "Oh sure, but when a commander takes a chance using the best that they've got, like the battle of Saratoga in the Revolutionary War, they can cause a major turning point!" The two competing classmates were glaring at each other while Elizaveta threw a note to Kiku, who read it, nodded and pointed to his small digital camera.

Mr. Adnan sighed. He would need to move this along. "It certainly looks like the Revolutionary War in here, but let's bring in the French to change the tide. Francis, you had your hand raised?" Francis Bonnefoy, famous among the girls of the school, had volunteered during the fevered debate.

"Yes, Mr. Adnan, I was wondering if the two over there would stop releasing sexual tensions and we could get on with the lesson for today." The French playboy winked; he was flirtatious enough to get away with the joke. Several students laughed and the Hungarian in the second row held a tissue to her nose as the Japanese boy did the same.

With twin cries of "We're not!" the rivals were silenced by their teacher. "Okay, boys, turn it down a few notches today so we can get through Homeric Greece." The rest of the day devolved into worksheets, activities and notes. Once an hour had passed, the bell rang, giving students ten minutes to get to their next class. With a mutter of "finally" Arthur got up from his seat and slung his leather messenger bag over his left shoulder, determined not to glance back at the troubling American.

Alfred relaxed in his seat a bit, taking a rest before continuing to Health Education, where he was not looking forward to Mr. Køhler explaining exactly what heroin trips felt like. He sighed, it had been a good morning, absolutely infuriating the pompous Brit with his debates and comebacks not once but twice! _Damn, I wonder if he would argue back if he knew how cute his angry face is, all pinched…_Alfred shook off the thought, just in case it had showed on his face. Times like these he chose to dwell on the origin of his strange affection.

"_Class," Mr. Adnan said, quieting the crew, "this is the seating chart for this year. No arguments and no swaps, what's on this paper is law. So sit down, imps."_

_There was a hustle and bustle as students moved around, and both Jones and Kirkland uttered the same oath after viewing the chart. "Oh, hell." They sat side by side, already too familiar with the other's personality, messing things up for each other whenever possible, always scolding and arguing, until one day Arthur got sick._

_It was a fairly serious case of bronchitis which had matured into pneumonia. Rumor had it that Arthur had ignored it, hoping it would go away until one day, he collapsed in the hall. That was true, but it left out that he had collapsed while arguing against a point made by a stubborn American. The way Arthur had looked when he fell, sick, tired and helpless made something snap in Alfred. The hero grabbed him and ran him to the clinic, where the panicked nurse called 911. _

_Alfred had found himself wondering what he would do if Arthur died, how his life would be, for all the trouble the Brit brought him, it was fun to argue and put up with his scolding, eat those weird scones he brought to class occasionally, and Alfred realized that he couldn't imagine life this fun without him. Past that, it was all downhill. It had trapped him before he knew it, and now all he wanted was Arthur, just Arthur._

Alfred hauled himself from his melancholic nostalgia, longing for a bar of chocolate to down his sorrows in, exiting the room and joining his group of friends waiting slightly down the hallway, namely Toris, the nice Lithuanian, Feliks, Toris's talkative Polish friend, and Kiku, the game-obsessed Japanese boy.

"Alfred, don't you think your fights with Arthur are getting out of hand?" Kiku questioned, his accent turning _l_s into _r_s.

"Naw, don't sweat it." Alfred said casually.

"Anyways, like, guys, we should like totally go and like start an equestrian club! Like, wouldn't that be totally cool?" Feliks broke in with one of his hilarious ideas which made the whole group laugh.

"Po, I really doubt the school has a budget for that." Toris tried to shoo the idea away.

"Liet, come on, it'd totally be like fun!" The strange nicknames didn't seem to trouble them unduly, but everyone else wondered about them a little.

"Anyways, I gotta go, see you guys in lunch!" Alfred left the group as they approached the doors of room 567, which read "Danish Territory!" with a little axe made out of the T. The teen just shook his head, sighing and opening the door. "Good morning, Coach." He said as he greeted his teacher who also happened to be the track team supervisor.

"Hey Jones, the rest of us were wondering when you would show up." The fit instructor replied, the strange little black hat he always wore bobbed as he acknowledged the presence of his pupil. The American gave his teacher a fist bump before sitting down next to Gilbert, his jock friend who was a notorious trouble maker. They didn't really like pulling anything in their coach's class, mostly out of respect for the former drug addict. Just looking at the classroom, with its many tributes to Denmark, Scandinavia and axes, you didn't have to know the teacher to assume there was something wrong with the man.

The fairly boring lesson went on, in which Alfred took the right notes, almost fell asleep during the drug abuse lecture which the coach seemed equally bored about, but perked up a bit around the Dane's explanation of addiction.

"Now listen up kids, an addiction is when your body builds up a dependence on a substance, whether it's heroin or smoked salmon, you physically need more, making you a hopeless wreck in school and life, even if the person who's addicted looks fine on the outside, they crave that substance more and more. Now," he walked around the room to a whiteboard, "every addiction has a cause. Whether you started for money, fame, power, lovesickness," Alfred flickered imperceptibly at this, "it's never good to turn to something else to drain the pain away."

Alfred just buried a smile. That was him, the teen chocoholic suffering from chronic love drama. Thinking of chocolate, he remembered the bar he had packed that morning. He'd eat it in third period to brace himself for seeing Arthur at lunch.

_BBBBRRRRIIIINGGG! _"All right, class dismissed, quiz Monday, homework to research a drug of your choice." Mr. Køhler sat back at his desk. "Have a good lunch, no chomping drugs!"

"Like he is!" Gilbert snickered in Alfred ear, making the youth want to protect the sanity of-

Their teacher was talking on the phone behind them. "Norge! I need a fix, I'm still seeing trolls! Come by my house tonight? What do you mean, 'no way in hell'?"

"Never mind, Gil."

Alfred sat down at a table in the airy, high domed cafeteria, adorned with artistic touches, swinging his legs under the table in one smooth motion. He mainly sat with the jocks and told "war stories" of their finest moments in sports, or he sat with the video game nerds and started talking about Modern Warfare 3 cheat codes. He loved games about death and winning, which now that he thought about it was a bit morbid, but true, as he made his way over to the gamers.

Opposite his table, a group of preppy, clean student council members talked about, _God knows what, something exceptional and proper, embroidery?, _the discussion lead by their glorious leader, the great Arthur Kirkland himself. Even though he smiled and wore that familiar pompous expression of his, it was clear to Alfred that he wasn't entirely content with his surroundings; clearly he feared for the security of his position. _Every the wary one._

He wondered what is would be like if they were dating, taking long walks, spending Saturdays together, Saturday nights….some rather R-18 thoughts passed briefly through his mind, making him blush, but it had gone unnoticed by geeks debating the advantages of character types. Alfred listened in while biting into his Big M*c and adding in his points.

Arthur just sighed over at the council table, thinking of his next period with _Jones, _that despicably stubborn American. It was Mr. Edelstein's class, Arts, called by that name because their teacher also taught music, but their class was Portfolio Prep, meaning that you could do pretty much anything as along as it was art-related. Again, the dratted alphabetical seating caused him to sit next to the obnoxious rival, getting into arguments about Abstract-Impressionism and Post-Realism.

"_Oui_, something is bothering you, Monsieur Kirkland?" Francis, the vice president said, leaning to close for the Brit's liking.

"Off me frog, I'm fine." Arthur pushed the overly-flirtatious Frenchman aside, "I was just thinking what a pain it will be to deal with Jones next period."

"Oh? Mon ami, surely you know…" Francis raised his eyebrows, but Arthur had no idea what he was implying.

"Know what, frog? I'm busy and I don't have time for half-assed expressions like yours."

Francis sighed. Really, the Kirkland boy was so clueless that he hadn't noticed Alfred looking at him for the past five minutes then blushing? Hopeless. "Oh, nothing, mon ami."

"Everyone, sit down and listen up," a voice with a slight Austrian accent said, quieting the crowd of students, "your home project this week is to create a human face, through whatever interpretation you choose, but it must be the pinnacle of perfection or I will not accept it. Now to work on your identity projects!" Mr. Edelstein sat down at his desk, which happened to be on a piano that he practiced on while the teens worked, calming the atmosphere. The piano in the room wasn't the strangest part; musical instruments dominated the other half of the room, clearly allowing anyone to guess what it was used for. The art half, however, had drying racks, paints, and virtually any art material placed around. Despite the volume of supplies, the clean-freak teacher kept it completely orderly.

Their independent project was to make one about their personal identity, which Feliciano, the cheerful Italian, was constructing a beautiful Renaissance-style oil painting, while Tino was showing off his skills at sewing, making some sort of red sack. Alfred, being better at drawing than anything else, was sketching a gigantic hamburger. The proper English gentleman beside him, rather embarrassed, took out an embroidery hoop and separated some floss, adding to his design of a teacup.

"You know," Alfred said, rummaging in his bag for a 3C pencil, "I didn't think we could use the arts and crafts movement-"

"It's a proper British art practiced for many decades-" Arthur could feel his face reddening with anger already, a familiar hot rage bubbling inside him. A new record?

"Heh, call your pansy art whatever you like-"

"Listen here, bloody yank…" With that, another long verbal fight erupted, drawing some sidelong glances from fellow classmates, but mostly just blending into the background for everyone else, drawing comments like "Not again" and "What is it this time?" The class was all too short for Alfred, who had quite enjoyed the fight and the look Arthur shot him when he had imitated his accent.

Back into the halls. They had the same last period too, English. Mr. Zwingli's indifference to teenage predicaments made him a bit volatile if you wanted to turn in an essay late because your printer wasn't working.

Purposefully, they took separate routes to avoid each other. Alfred dashed into class later because he had accidently knocked over a tray of paint, which the neat-freak teacher made him clean up. Alfred had also thrown a chocolate bar wrapper on the floor, earning another admonishment. The American athlete couldn't help himself to resist a bit of sweet escape.

Once again, Alfred's amazing speed delivered him to class safely, where he promptly sat down next to Arthur again, trying to catch his breath before his demanding teacher started class precisely on time, thanks to his Swiss watch. The classroom was almost bare of any educational posters, the walls all looked the same, as if the teacher prided neutrality above all.

"Listen up, since we've been studying the art of debate this month," the toughest teacher in the school vocalized, "and..," he said, glaring at Alfred and Arthur, "been given some fine examples of it by Jones and Kirkland here, you will break into teams of two, which have already been chosen," he added, demoralizing the class, "to construct a debate about any subject, as long as you have a proper for and against stance for every issue you present. Now, the first pair…"

Alfred snickered. Watch he and Arthur get paired up, he'd be waiting for the expression on the Brit's face.

"Beilschmidt and Héderváry…" The two glared at each other, red eyes meeting green.

"Bragaski and Galante…" The small Latvian cowered at the thought, while the Russian smiled contentedly.

"Kirkland and Jones…" _Yes! _"No!" Arthur said under his breath before scowling at Alfred, who was putting up his façade of nonchalance that infuriated the British teen so much, leaning back in his chair and winking at Arthur, "Let's have fun, 'k partner?"

"When hell freezes over, bloody wanker!" Even though it didn't show, those words cut into Alfred's heart a little.

"Well, there's someone's vote you won't be winning, President Kirkland."

"I'm not running for re-election, you idiot, since I'm graduating this year along with the rest of senior class, perhaps omitting you and your fellow incompetents."

_Like I needed to be reminded that you're leaving my life forever? _"Yesh, Kirkland, awfully harsh just because you flunked the science test?"

Arthur turned red. _Ah, so he did flunk it… _"My grades are none of your business, Jones!"

The satisfied American smiled. "Sure, just don't expect me to keep quiet-"

"SHUT THAT ANNOYING LITTLE TRAP OF YOURS, JONES!" The Swiss teacher with all the gentle touch of a Gatling gun yelled, "Now, as I was saying, you will have to meet over the weekend and practice your debate, and I will expect audio proof in MP3 form given to me on a flash drive before 3:45pm sharp Monday. Clear?" The class mumbled agreement, which the instructor decided was the best he was going to get. "Then go!"

The rest of the class was consumed by arguing over topics, while Alfred was leaning towards recent political scandals for his favorite fast food chain and Arthur making it clear that theology debates were the best way to go. Elizaveta, having been paired with Gilbert, was unexpectedly dominating the power struggle and calling all the shots. When the poor German tried to protest, she shot him a glare which made him shut up.

Planning a meeting was more difficult for the famous rivalry. Arthur had a dinner party to go to tonight, while Alfred had a baseball game all-day Saturday in addition the Arthur's church Sunday. The only opening was Saturday night.

"Bloody hell, one way to spend a Saturday, working with a blighter like you." Arthur grumbled.

Frankly speaking, Alfred was fairly happy. But he was determined not to show it. "Well, where should we meet up?"

"Not my house." The Brit said immediately, "I've got three violent older brothers and a pesky younger one. In fact, you remind me of Peter with your pointless questions."

"Ha ha, quite the comedian. How about my place?" Alfred was secretly praying for that.

"I'd rather eat my own feet, but the library is closed and anywhere else wouldn't work." He sighed, damning this project under his breath, "Fine."

_YES! _"Hey, think I want you bringing that stench into my lovely house? I'm making the biggest sacrifice here." Alfred kept up his act, though inside he was bursting from happiness.

Arthur scoffed. "Yes, of course, because setting foot in your disgusting hovel won't be punishment enough." Even the thought of having to spend time outside of school on the filthy pig of an American made him wince. And now he'd have to waste an entirely good Saturday night on a project.

"Oh, can it Brit." The bell rang, instilling energy in every student in the room. "See you Saturday!" Alfred waved, wearing what would look, to anyone in the school, like a fake smile. But only Alfred knew it was real.

_Blimey idiot going on like that. I might catch something again just so I don't have to stand his stupidity on Saturday, _Arthur thought, picking up his bag and kicking the chair back under the table angrily. Sighing, he exited the room and made his way to the student parking lot. As he walked, a faint memory from earlier in the year was brought to mind. It had been a while since the incident when he collapsed at school, in a dead faint while in the middle of an argument with the bloody yank. He'd awoken in the hospital a day later, recovering. Not like his parents visited, just some of the other students he was friends with. Enough cards and flowers, and everyone had told him the same thing. How _Jones _had ran him all the way to the clinic, panting and almost setting a new record. He'd refused to believe it at first, of course, but the boy had an insufferable hero complex and would have done it for anyone. Obviously.

Alfred got home and did a flying leap into his couch. His cat, Hero, replicated his master's actions and landed on the tired teen. The boy laughed and held the cat up, still lying down. "Arthur's coming to visit soon. So behave yourself, okay?" The cat meowed, and Alfred set down his adorable feline, brushing the big puff of black fur away from the cat's neck. "Gee whiz, I have no idea what breed you are, mostly 'cause I don't think any breed has a big ol' bomber jacket ruff like you." The cat purred, and Alfred smiled contentedly. It had been two years since he started living on his own; the house was one owned by his aunt and uncle who didn't really care for it, and its mortgage had been paid off, leaving Alfred free of that.

"So, Hero, want to help me tidy up the house?" The cat immediately disappeared into some foreign cubbyhole. "Well, I don't want to do it either!" Alfred felt a bit silly for talking to his cat, but it did give him companionship. Oh well, to work! Now, where did he leave his cleaning supplies…He whistled a tune to himself.

_Let me know that I've done wrong_

_When I've known this all along_

_I go around a time or two_

_Just to waste my time with you…_

Arthur groaned. He'd barely gotten home when Peter started bugging him about playing "UN" with him, an offer which he refused, stating that "Sealand" or whatever it was he was representing wasn't even a country.

Luckily, his older brothers were out, leaving him to finish his homework in peace. What topic had they finally decided on for the debate? Oh yes, the necessity of colonies developing and breaking away from empires. Alfred had been pro, so he'd be against. Any chance to disagree with the uppity American. He grinned as he pulled up the website page on British colonies. This was going to be a breeze.


	3. 3: Saturday Night

"Haaaaaah…." Alfred fell back onto his couch, the house looked marginally better, general trash had been picked up and everything looked a little neater. Now it was time to work on the project. Connecting to his own Wi-Fi network, LetsGoHamStreet, he typed in a page URL. Pictures of the Revolutionary War popped up onscreen, including a weird one depicting two anime characters standing in the rain. _Pfft, Go*gle drags up the weirdest things. Hm, I need some chocolate now. Maybe just a bar…or three. A little delicious treat for me today, a bit of lovely escape…_

Alfred smiled and got up. This colony was going to fight the empire one more time.

_Saturday, Residence of 1776 July Street…_

Arthur slammed the door of his Camry. This was the place? He'd followed Alfred bizarre directions, "_and if you reach September, you've gone too far…"_, which made sense when he saw that all the other streets were named after months as well.

He didn't even have to give Arthur the specific address, because the pickup with the flag sticker was a dead giveaway that the patriotic American lived here. He sighed, it wasn't that bad, better than he had expected, but still Alfred's and therefore awful. The house was in general disrepair, but didn't seem too badly off. The windows were fairly clean and the porch swept, so it was definitely inhabited.

The door's paint was peeling in place and flakes fell off as the impatient Brit rapped the wood.

Inside, Alfred quickly gulped down the last of his chocolate and hid the wrapper, decided to play one last trick on the pompous Londoner. He waited on the couch, until his angry rival knocked again. "Come on, Alfred, I haven't got all night!" he shouted.

That was his cue. Alfred sauntered to the door. He saw the face of an absolutely furious British gentleman when he opened it, which only made him smile more. Leaning on the threshold, arms crossed, he said, "I'm sorry, but it was probably 1776_ June_ Street that ordered a prostitute."

Arthur didn't wait for the prankster to finish; instead, he just charged in and took off his shoes. Once Alfred finished the statement, he was exposed to the full anger of a Brit kept waiting.

"You bloody idiot, do you want to pass English or not? I've only got a little while, so get your part of the research and we'll get down to business." Arthur shouted, but Alfred wasn't paying attention to him, just his accent that was so much cuter when he was angry.

"Hm? Oh, right. I just thought you wanted to see my beautiful face again." Alfred said, knowing it would provoke the Englishman to ranting.

"I'll bet all the rum in the UK that you're just compensating for a miserable childhood," Arthur got out his laptop, "and where do we work?"

"The study, and I'll say you better hand over all the booze 'cause that's a bet you'd lose." Alfred grinned, evoking a scowl from the Brit. "Or is the Queen gonna present it to me?"

"Lady Elizabeth would be out of her mind to visit a ruffian like you." Arthur had found his way to the study and set up his computer on the table. Alfred's work was already there, so the American just sat down across from the emerald-eyed president.

"Anyways, leaving out the lady," Alfred said, still set on mocking Arthur, "I suppose we should compare notes?"

"More productive than insulting each other, Jones." Arthur proudly opened his document about the British empire.

"I don't know, I-Hero! Off the work table!" All Arthur saw was a ball of fur hop onto his enemy's keyboard, only to be picked up and told off. "Bad kitty!" Alfred said, putting him on his lap.

Arthur was momentarily without anything to say. "What-"

"My cat," Alfred explained, "Hero's such a bad boy, aren't you?" The cat meowed in agreement. "That's my boy."

Arthur stifled laughter. "I never took you as a crazy old cat lady type, Jones." Jones, with such a weird animal?

"Well, he's good companionship so I keep him around. Ain't that right, Hero?" Hero meowed again and purred.

Arthur sighed. "It's 'Isn't that right?', 'ain't' is not a word." His grammar was almost as bad as his manners.

"Well, ain't that interestin'?" Alfred said, pulling out a Southern drawl, which he was fairly good at because his family was from Kentucky, "I ain't not never heard no 'ain't's not no word'."

Arthur just rolled his eyes. "It appears that your double negatives need help as well. Let's discuss issues."

"Fine. We're definitely using America's independence-"

"-Too cliché."

"It's a turning point in history!"

"No, just American history!"

"That's the only kind that matter, anyways!" Back to square one.

_Friday, Hetalia International, Staff Meeting, 4:15 pm_

"Hey, what'd Jones and Kirkland fight about in your class today, Sadiq?" Mr. Køhler said as he poured himself some coffee, then pulled a small white package out of his sleeve and emptied it into the drink like sugar.

The Turk sipped his brew of black French roast. "Ah, something about unexpected entrances and the stupidity of various generals through history. You, Roderich?"

The aristocrat sounded annoyed. "Artistic movements and the quality of each other's work. Vasch?"

The Swiss man was selecting a tea from the rack. "I paired them together for partner work." The rest of the teachers just stared. "What?"

Mr. Roma, the Latin teacher, let out a low whistle. "Your classroom's still there, right?"

Zwingli smiled thinly. "Barely."

"Wow, please tell me it wasn't a-"

"-weekend assignment and yes, it was."

A prolonged silence filled the room. Finally, Mr. Adnan spoke up. "Are you trying to make them commit murder?"

"My classroom would be a lot more peaceful if they did."

Mr. Edelstein rolled his eyes, but somehow managed to do so elegantly. "Honestly, Vasch, when will you learn that violence is not the answer?"

The Swiss man just looked at his friend. "Give me a situation in this school I couldn't solve by shooting someone." He had a point there. All the teachers silently nodded their agreement, and went on discuss lesson plans.

"Honestly Arthur, if you had learned how to compromise we could have been done with this thirty minutes ago." Alfred said, looking at their finally completed outline of their debate. The American already knew most of his own, but Arthur had been forced to rewrite parts of his and wanted more time to memorize them. Alfred had been enjoying the close proximity of his project partner, which was sparking his excess energy.

"Well, if Hero hadn't jumped on my keyboard-"

"Don't drag my cat into this!" Alfred held his pet protectively.

"You're insufferable." Arthur began work on other documents.

"Likewise, limey." The Brit glared daggers at the unaffected teen.

Alfred suddenly had an idea. "Oh hey, that reminds me, wanna pose for my art homework?"

"Why the bloody hell are you asking me?"

"It's gonna be a challenge to turn an ugly mug like that into 'the pinnacle of perfection'." The American shot back.

"I'm not doing any stupid poses, I'm just working on my memorizing my side." Arthur swiftly clicked the keys of his computer.

"All right, I'll just draw you as is then. With your face all wrinkled from concentrating." Alfred was delving into his bag for his sketchpad and a pencil. Once he got the items, he got out of his chair and sat a respectable distance away from the Brit.

Sketching Arthur's face was fairly easy, _mostly because sometimes it's all I can think about_, the golden hair, constantly messy, the high cheekbones and full lips (Alfred blushed slightly), not to mention the deep forest green eyes, set off by unusually thick eyebrows… Alfred's pencil flew to catch every minor detail, be it a freckle or curve of an eyelash.

After a while, he finished and started to work on the shading, darkening and erasing on the piece of paper. Once the final touches were added, Alfred smiled to himself, looking at the best face he'd ever drawn, grumpy but utterly realistic. He'd have to keep this for later.

Arthur cleared his throat. "I've got it, let's record the Revolutionary War from the top."

Alfred smirked. "It's like the heroic US of A versus snobby old Britain all over again."

"Sod off and record your side, Jones. Now to begin, the British empire did what was necessary, considering they were in crippling debt due to a war…."

"…but when the debt was repaid, the taxes continued as the crown enjoyed the spoils of taxing the unrepresented." Alfred added to the tape, following the script they had set up for the assignment. After an hour of recording and re-editing, the assignment was safely stored on a flash drive named EMERALDLION, awaiting Mr. Zwingli's judgement.

"Where do you keep your glasses? I need some water." Arthur got up, irritated as usual.

"Eh, second shelf on the left, but make sure you turn on the filter on the tap." Alfred adopted a slightly less bold voice, one that might even be mistaken for a fearful one. "Strange things can get through the pipes. I heard this house was haunted." _I'll need some chocolate after this, where did I hide it this time?_

"Oh, seriously, Jones, I've been to the Thames and no water is worse than that." Arthur opened the door and found it stuffed full of-

"-Candy bars, Jones, don't say a gremlin carried them in here." He laughed, and Alfred's pulse sped up, but for another reason. _That's…I…fuck. Think of a lie, a lie…._Usually, he could come up with one easily, but his mind was in shutdown and refused to respond.

"Hm, must be my missing Halloween candy," Alfred said, but Arthur turned around. Something was not quite right about his classmate's voice. Too…nervous? "Hero must've been hoarding them, aye boy?" He rubbed his cat's head.

"Jones, are you," he paused, the trashcan now visible and full of chocolate wrappers, "some sort of an addict?" _Crap….crapcrapcrap this is not the person who should put this together. _Alfred's heart was pounding, but part of that was the look the Brit was giving him. Almost, concern? His thoughts were all jumbled up, impossible to make sense of.

"I-It's nothing." Wrong thing to say.

Arthur was confused. "Jones…"

"Oh…shit." Alfred sat down, his mind ceased to function, burying his face in his hands, and Arthur came rushing over. Jones never looked that way, something was horribly wrong.

"Jones, what's…?" Arthur's voice came from the kitchen, confused and curious.

_I can't say it, I can't, I can't…, _Alfred's thoughts raced before him with a final consensus. His heart was pounding harder than it had in any track meet, any football game… Knowing Arthur was a few feet away sent his heart into overload, spinning a charge of adrenaline through his system, filling ever bit of him with nervous energy. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and just knowing that it was Arthur's sent his pulse racing faster.

"For God's sake, Jones, you don't fall apart after an hour of arguing but one mention of chocolate and you fall apart? I've found quite the weakness here." Arthur said, but it was clear he was just trying to make light of the situation. He was utterly at a loss for whatever the hell was going on, so he could only hope that the real Jones was probably behind him, waiting to prank him.

Alfred could feel tears sting the corners of his eyes. He couldn't stand that voice, that beautiful voice that he would dream about. A lot of questions would come up after this, and he couldn't think of a single way to save himself, the relationship he'd made, nothing…

"Jones, what the hell's gone wrong with that idiotic American head of yours?" Arthur kneeled down so he was more or less eye-level with the distraught teen.

Said American was deep in despair, wishing that he could disappear, but he made the one mistake of looking up. There was Arthur's face, stricken with concern. And that was enough for Alfred.

He just collapsed, sobbing, wishing he could stop himself, on Arthur's shoulder. The Brit was surprised; this was probably the most surreal thing that had occurred in his life, so remained in that position, stunned. Alfred was breathing in the subtle lavender smell, the hint of Earl Gray Tea that hung around Arthur, calming himself down while just making the situation worse.

Unsure of how to react, Arthur just awkwardly tried to return the sudden embrace, wrapping his arms around the wrecked youth, trying to remember what to do in a circumstance like this. However, his response only further drove the stake into Alfred's heart.

_Who has to know_

_When we live such fragile lives_

_It's the best way we survive_

_Don't…don't act like you care about me, I know you don't, just stop, it's so cruel, Arthur…_Alfred's mind ran ragged, his heartbeat pounding in his ears until it was all he could hear. He couldn't breathe without hiccupping and weeping, he felt at a complete loss. This was what he had feared; Arthur finding him at his worst, finding his secret, and acting just like that. Tears ran down his face while he willed them away.

After a while, Alfred finally got control of himself again. He breathed in and out slowly, trying to realign his mind. However, he didn't want to get up. Alfred whispered in Arthur's ear, quietly and broken. "I'm sorry." Arthur was shocked into silence.

_Let me know that I've done wrong_

_When I've known this all along_

_I go around a time or two_

_Just to waste my time with you_

"Jones…are you…" Arthur said finally, haltingly and almost scared. His entire term there, going to school had been his rock and this new development was making him wonder if he could ever spend a school day the same way. Through all the struggles in his house, every time his brothers got into fights and Peter cried, he'd always been the top in school, always the one to be envied, and always…_always fighting with this Jones, every day…_

"Yeah, I'm fine, it's just…" The weak voice mumbled, low and tired. This was not the rambunctious teen he knew, this wasn't Jones. It was another, softer side to him. Arthur didn't know what to make of it, but he felt like he should help, somehow, some way.

_You are the only one that needs to know…._

"Jones, if you need help…"Arthur trailed off, unsure of what to say. The deadweight of his classmate dragged down on his shoulder, a complete mess. He'd never been prepared for this, the one crying had always been him, tossed aside and struggling with his own problems.

"I-I….oh, god, Arthur…" Alfred felt a million emotions taking over at once, fear, pride, hope, love, sorrow, anger, all searching for dominance, and he realized, in that second, he just couldn't be his own hero. He held on to Arthur like he was the last lifejacket on the Titanic, trying so hard to ask him. _Just save me or damn me, just make this stop…say something. I need some chocolate to help me get through this, is only I could get up…._

It was quiet for a minute or two as Alfred's breathing got back to normal. "Jones, I hate to be so rude," Arthur said, delicately, "but please get off me." The boy had called him by his first name, something was serious, he didn't know what, but again he felt the need to help, the need to make sure this all turned out fine.

Alfred let out a ragged breath and pulled himself of the Brit. They were both sitting on the floor now, facing each other. Alfred's eyes lay downcast, shielding his face from Arthur's eyes.

_The way she feels inside_

_Those thoughts I can't deny_

_These sleeping thoughts won't lie_

"You…idiot." Alfred said, knowing he had to tell now, there was no other way. The crazy fever of feelings was destroying him, if only he had some chocolate to drown it in, if only…

"I'm the idiot here? I'm not the one breaking down about candy bars." The slight outrage in his partner's tone made Alfred smile a little; it seemed just like old times.

"Not candy, you idiot, you." Arthur's mind took a while to fully understand the statement.

"You're crying…about me? Come off it Jones, before I begin thinking you should be locked in an asylum." It almost felt like an old school argument, but it never could be again. Two teens, sitting next to each other, playing a game of hurt and comfort.

"Why wouldn't I?" Alfred felt so much better; it was like letting a gigantic weight off his shoulders with every word. But past that freedom was despair. He didn't care, because all that mattered now was leaving this weight behind.

_And all I've tried to hide_

_It's eating me apart_

_Trace this life out_

Three words, three words to freedom. "I love you." There. Now he could crack, now he could fall apart.

Arthur was sure that all the shock of today was enough, but then Alfred added something else, something he had never thought of, and he felt strange, like there was a slight flame in his heart. Did he love him back? How could he expect him to, always talking back and acting like an obnoxious, pig-headed American, but, he had to admit that there was something about him…

"Do you remember when you passed out at school?" Alfred's small voice said, taking up a lighter tone, but underneath it was cold sorrow. "I was so scared; I thought I'd lost you, so I ran all the way to the nurse. I wanted to visit you in the hospital, but I didn't think you'd want me…Only to lose you, now." His voice caught and broke. All he could think about was just drowning himself in chocolate when this ended, trying to forget this.

This was making no sense. None. Arthur was so confused, but strangely, one thing was clear. He didn't want to hurt Alfred. But could he really reciprocate those kinds of feelings, did he want to? Could he? He thought of the loneliness of his life, how he'd always longed for someone.

Alfred smiled, but it was so sad that it sent a dagger through Arthur's heart. "I knew it was hopeless, so just go ahead and leave now. It's fine, I'm just pitiful, and you don't care…" A sob started. He longed to just run away and tear open a bar, getting an ounce of comfort to heal his broken heart with.

_Should I get up? Should I stay? What the bloody hell is he expecting me to do? I can't just leave him, but…_Arthur looked at Alfred, emerald eyes meeting teary sky-blue ones. He wanted to hold him, to tell him it was okay, that everything was going to be fine. He wanted to see that obnoxious smile again when he walked into room 700, wanted to watch him laugh…Arthur gasped. He wanted Alfred…it was true.

Arthur hugged the surprised American tightly, surprising himself almost as much as Alfred. "You git, do you think I can leave you here alone after something like that?" Alfred wanted to cry again. Just being held this way by his love made him feel so happy, just this, but was Arthur saying-

"I can't even remember a school day I didn't argue with you, and I can't imagine one starting now. I…" Arthur swallowed, "I care about you, Alfred, and it's taken me too bloody long to figure that out." Alfred felt his heart swell, about to burst.

Pulling a little away from the embrace, Alfred said quietly, "Then you won't mind if I do this?" He lifted Arthur's chin slightly, moving closer and closer, until their lips met in a kiss. All of Alfred's heart went into that kiss, that one moment where he couldn't deny anything any longer. His passion, joy, despair, greed and hope all deepened the moment, finally completing his soul, feeding the never-ending desire that had lain in his chest like a black hole.

Arthur was caught off guard, but quickly succumbed, letting the sweet taste of chocolate on Alfred's lips to sweep him away, as he realized the emptiness inside him was finally filled, a void he hadn't realized existed, but he now felt like he was living, really and truly.

They broke away, tongues still intertwining, faces tinted with a faint heat. Arthur was the first to speak, "Yes…I'm…okay with that…" The aftermath of it left them longing for more.

Alfred smiled happily. Even if the rest of his life was hell after this, even if he rejected him, this was all he needed, all he ever wanted, and he never wanted it to end. He couldn't stop just here. "Maybe some more then," he said, kissing him again.

The first one seemed stolen compared to this. It was like holding all the world's joy in yourself at once and never wanting to give it back. Alfred couldn't imagine a time when he'd felt this whole, this complete. It felt like an eternity, but it was all too short. Arthur broke for air, gasping a little and leaning against Alfred's warm shoulder. "Can we go somewhere more comfortable..?"

* * *

A/N: *EDIT* I reread the story. I officially hated it. I officially replaced it with a clean version I made a long time ago. Before it was awful. Now it's better. So much better. I'm just happier with this version and it works better with the plot.


	4. 4: The Next Days

The next morning, Arthur awoke to the sounds of birds singing in the trees. The small window in the room let in a little morning light, golden beams shining across his face. That made something click. Where was he?

Then, memories came rushing back to him and he hid his face as it turned crimson. What the hell had he done last night? What was wrong with him? But…it had all been so right…Suddenly, he realized Alfred wasn't with him. Where-

"Hm, morning, President Kirkland of Hetalia International Academy!" Alfred said, descending from the stairs yawning. He'd gone up stairs to change into a pair of gray sweatpants and a tank top.

Arthur hid under the blanket while shouting back, "And a good morning to you! Let me sleep! A proper English gentleman never wakes up before seven!"

"C'mon, you were already awake," Alfred said, turning the corner of the hallway and sitting on the edge of the couch, "plus it's 7:30. And last time I checked, you weren't a proper English gentleman."

An insult! Arthur raised his head indignantly, only to be kissed on the cheek by his boyfriend. "Knew that'd get you up," Alfred said and winked, "well, breakfast time. You wanna use the shower?"

"Bloody hell, Alfred, of course I do, but I haven't a change of clothes. I'd correct your grammar if I wasn't so disgusted with it." Arthur said, rolling his eyes, blushing a little from the surprise kiss.

"Well, I'm sure I have a shirt or two that would fit you. We're practically the same size anyways. Get going, King Arthur, and be down to eat. I'll put the clothes out." The American had started cracking eggs and frying bacon.

"Bloody Americans, scrambling perfectly good eggs in a skillet instead of boiling them. I doubt you even have an egg cup." Arthur grumbled as he got up, draping the blanket over himself as did, which only made him look like a miserable attempt at a Halloween ghost costume.

"What's an egg cup?" Alfred said, taking a second away from cooking to wink with bright blue eyes at Arthur with his, who turned pink and cursed all Americans under his breath as he navigated the hallway.

Alfred chuckled. He'd finally got what he wanted, and Arthur seemed happier too. Casting a sidelong glance at his cupboard full of chocolate, he resolved to find a way to give away some of it. He didn't need anything to fill his loneliness anymore. Checking the sizzling contents of his pan, he decided get some clothes for Arthur when the bacon finished. Humming a tune under his breath, he smiled to himself.

_Tell me all that you've thrown away_

_Find out games you don't wanna play_

_You are the only one who needs to know…._

Minutes later, both a full breakfast for two and a Brit with slightly damp hair were at the table. Alfred had found a too-small and seldom used dress shirt which had fit the shorter boy fairly well, along with matching pants which had apparently been part of the same suit set, which Arthur had commented "was brought be a relative who didn't know you in the slightest".

As Alfred chomped down bacon, Arthur decided to keep mainly to eggs and toast. A question kept fluttering around in his mind.

"So, Alfred," Arthur began shakily, and Alfred stopped eating for a second to listen, "I guess we're…"

"Going out now? Hell yes, and you call me the idiot." Alfred said with his mouth full of food.

"Don't speak like that, it's disgusting. I was just confirming, and that leads me to my other question, how in the bloody hell are we going to be able to see each other?" Arthur said, turning pink.

Gulping down his mouthful, Alfred answered. "It won't be that hard, because no one will suspect us. Think about it, our reputation is as bitter enemies, so any time you want to see me, just claim we have a project and grumble about it for a while and sulk like you do. It'll be totally believable." He concluded and ate some more toast.

"Well, yes…" Arthur was blushing slightly, which Alfred noticed immediately. He leaned over and kissed his lover on the cheek, sparking a glare framed by large eyebrows.

"You're so insecure, Artie. It'll be fine, 'cause heroes like me always protect who they love. I don't know if the same is true about British gentlemen though." Blue eyes sparkled as Alfred smiled back.

"Well, they do. And where are all these nicknames coming from anyways?" Arthur asked, irritated.

"Let's just say I've had a lot of time to think about them. King Arthur, Artie, Eyebrows…"

"God, please just call me Kirkland in school." He imagined Francis teasing him about it, rubbing his stubbly chin and laughing in his French "hohohohon…"

"Sure, and you have to remember to call me Jones." Alfred said, teasing now. "No Alfie, Al, Epic Amazing Superman-"

"Like hell I'd ever call you that!" Arthur laughed, shaking his head.

"Well, if you remember Friday, you said we'd have fun as partners 'when hell froze over', so I'm sorta taking bets on it."

"Git." Arthur leaned on Alfred's shoulder.

Alfred kissed his forehead. "Idiot."

They sat like that for a while, enjoying the company of each other, until Arthur insisted had to clear the dishes, his proper housekeeping senses kicking in. Alfred just sighed, smiling, as bright morning light streamed through the kitchen, making the small tiled space seem like a piece of heaven.

* * *

"Have a good day at church, hope you're not Catholic!" Alfred said, as he waved Arthur off. He laughed at his own joke.

"I'm Protestant, last time I checked!" Arthur called back, starting his car and leaving for the chapel. Driving helped him calm his mind and concentrate on the alibi he was going to use with his family. Sure, they didn't care about much, but his brothers might start questioning him. He'd come up with the project being made difficult by his insolent American partner, requiring them to stay up late to finish it. By the end, he was too exhausted to go home, so he was offered a place to stay for the night.

Alfred. He found himself wondering when he had started caring for him. He had no clue himself until he saw Alfred crying, then something inside him had just snapped into place, making him realize just how much he wanted, needed, Alfred to be all right. That sharp tongue, always ready with a counter argument, his bright sky-blue eyes, hidden behind glasses, a blond mop with a stubborn curl….

That'd have to do. He was there, to the little white building with a steeple and it was time to face his family and make sure they didn't find out about his gay boyfriend.

He pulled up in the small parking lot, framed by well-kept bushes and yellow tulips. The clear white markings created squares on the asphalt, and Arthur groaned as he saw his family's van was already parked in the lot. They'd be waiting for him.

Getting out of the car and stowing the keys in his pocket, the English teen took a deep breath and crossed the threshold into the open space of his church. Spotting the tell-tale ginger hair of his brother, he sat down on a bench, determined to stick to his story. Of course, the interrogation began right away.

Where had he been, why was he there, why couldn't he finish the project, why he had stayed overnight, the questions flowed thick and fast, mostly from his nosy brothers while his parents were too busy ignoring each other to notice anything else. He sighed, tiredly answering the questions, but his brothers, as always, kept nosing around for a falsehood that they could exploit.

"Arthur, you didn't leave the house in those clothes, so why do you have them?" Crap. He didn't think of that. An alibi, quick.

"Well, I guessed as much that my partner would be incompetent, so I brought my clothes just in case." That was all right, even though Peter looked slightly dubious, he hoped that part would hold just long enough for the minister to-

"Children! Today, we gather…" Oh, thank god. The monotonous voice of the priest rang through the hall, making parents quiet their offspring as they listened to holy words. Holy, completely boring words they had all heard a thousand times. As usual, Arthur decided to blank out and go through his own thoughts.

_Alfred Jones, _he thought. An obnoxious, brave, gentle, smart, handsome senior who was the top athlete of the school. The ash blonde hair with a stubborn curl that never laid flat, blue eyes framed by square glasses, quite possibly the only person who had ever needed him. Arthur held his hands together in prayer, quietly asking God for a happy life, health for his family, friends, and Alfred.

As soon as Arthur's car pulled away, a furry presence head-butted Alfred's leg. "Hero!" Alfred exclaimed, picking up his cat, "So you ran off to go play with Crumpet again? Naughty boy." He carried his pet back inside, then moved to go get Hero's breakfast.

Rifling through a small plastic bag for a tin of food, Alfred reflected on his success last night, finally lifting the weight of unrequited love off his shoulders and actually getting Arthur in the process. He had resigned himself to the fact that the Brit would never know, but that just went to show that life surprised you when you least expected it.

Giving the feline a can of Me*w Mix, he sat down at his table, flipping through his sketchbook. When he got to Arthur's face, he smiled and traced the lines lightly with his fingers. He'd have to show it to him Monday.

Looking over at the cabinet full of chocolate, he had an idea. Flipping through a few recipe books that his aunt had left, he came to just the one he was looking for, jotted down a few lines on a scrap of paper, and set off in his pick-up for the grocery store. Hero jumped up on the table, his tail brushing a few pages over the entry that Alfred found. _Chocolate desserts and other treats._

* * *

_Monday, Hetalia International Academy, 8:40am_

Alfred pulled up to school earlier than usual, glad to be taking his time for once. He breathed in the sweet spring air before walking to the gates. As he walked through the halls, teachers and students alike saw him and looked mildly surprised. He figured that the word of him and Arthur being partners must have spread. He even saw his Latin teacher, Mr. Roma, in the hallway, and the man was so glad to see him that he hugged the poor boy and started jabbering away in Italian.

He paused before walking into room 700, smiling evilly to himself before pulling the door suddenly and watched an unsuspecting teen to fall back into the hallways. "_Mon Dieu!_" cried the French youth, but unlike the horribly out of shape Arthur, he was able to recover his fall. The Brit was instead leaning on the podium up front and shot Alfred a glance like _didn't get me this time, Jones. _Alfred just stuck out his tongue. Their plan was to keep up their rivalry, which couldn't be easier.

Mr. Adnan got to class three minutes before the bell, letting out a breath of relief when he saw both boys there and virtually unharmed. Secretly, he wondered if they had just ditched the project rather than suffer each other. He would have to ask Vasch later.

Meanwhile, Francis watched Alfred migrate over to talk to Kiku. His gaze gradually scanned back to Arthur, who was more than aware that this meant the frog thought something was up.

"So, mon ami, how was the weekend project?" Francis probed, clearly connecting a few dots.

Arthur answered with his well-rehearsed lie, "A complete nightmare."

"Really?" The teen said in mock surprise, "I would have assumed that being alone with Jones wouldn't be that bad-"

Now Arthur could start telling the truth. "It was. He made me rewrite an entire section of my debate and then wouldn't add one of my issues to his, as well as pointing out holes in my side..." While the Brit ranted, Francis took the time to analyze. First, the blush on his face, not to mention the way he would avoid anything outside the project that Jones did to annoy him, and that the shirt the president wore today had a higher collar. The way he had seen them looking at each other that morning confirmed his suspicions.

Cutting the enraged Englishman off, he held a hand up, as if to block off others from hearing what he was going to say, "So, how was he _really_?" he asked in a rather breathy voice.

Arthur turned red and looked flustered. Francis grinned. There was Kirkland, the horrible liar he knew.

"R-Really? He was annoying, obnoxious and stubborn! Honestly, Bonnefoy, what are you trying to imply?"

"Oh nothing, of course, Kirkland." Francis smiled in triumph. He had gotten what he needed. This was going to be an interesting last term.

Second period dragged on, with the drugs quiz taking up most of class. Alfred had aced it and put it in the basket ahead of anyone else, leaving him to sketch on loose-leaf paper. He traced a teacup, a little unicorn, and a fluttering fairy on the lined sheet.

Gilbert leaned over and asked a question to the daydreaming artist. "Hey, Al, y'know the English debate thing?"

Alfred nodded, knowing his friend was using this as an excuse to talk about himself. "Yeah, how'd yours go?"

"Man, that Elizaveta is a devil! I swear, she didn't let me have any fun with the debate about old Eastern European wars! I kept saying the strongest force at the time was Prussia, but she kept noting all these battles where Hungary's army beat 'em back! It sucked!"

:Aren't you two old friends or something?"

"Well…that was when we were kids, and I didn't even know she was a girl back then."

Alfred snickered. "Wow, that's one hell of a bad start."

"You've got no idea buddy." Gilbert slumped down in his seat.

BRRRRRIIIINGGG! Lunchtime, and Alfred decided to talk more to Gilbert about the project, He was interesting mainly because his German friend would keep reddening whenever he mentioned his partner. Being the prying, obnoxious American he was, he wanted to figure out what had happened. He sat down next to the infamous Bad Touch Trio, Antonio, the cheerful Spaniard, his friend Gil, and Francis, vice president of the student council. The three were legend when it came to pranks and just about any major incident in the past 4 years at Hetalia International could be traced back to them.

"So, Francis my buddy, why are you over here?" Gilbert questioned, "Not that I'm unhappy you're not hanging out with those boring brats over there."

"Oh, you know, sometimes sexual tensions are a little too high even for _moi_," Francis said smoothly, the epitome of casual seduction. Of course, everyone at the table was unaffected, but various girls walking by looked a little dreamy-eyed.

Gilbert snorted. "Too bad for you? Well, being as awesome as I am, I'd like to give it a shot."

"Oh, please," Francis laid a restraining hand on his friend, "believe me. Ivan is over there with his group of lackeys. Levels are quite high."

"Well," Gilbert gulped; the Russian was the only one in the school who scared him, "not that I'm scared, but I see what you're saying."

"Of course, mon ami." Francis smirked.

"Hey, Alfred!" Antonio said to catch the American's attention, "Everyone's talking about your project! Locked in with a mad Brit until you two could work together, wow. How'd it go?"

Alfred sighed. "It was nuts. I don't think I've ever met anyone as ornery as Kirkland." This, being the truth, was easy to say.

Francis's eyebrows shot up suggestively, "So, you would say you got to know him _better_?" The Frenchman made this statement sound incredibly dirty.

Antonio smiled, "Francis, what are you implying there?" The Spaniard was curious.

"_Mon ami_, just to cut it short, our dear Kirkland seems to feel a certain _attraction _to our American here, one that seems a bit…"

"Hostile?" Alfred supplied slyly.

Gilbert smirked. "Yeah, that'd be it."

Francis wanted to pry a little more, but it'd probably be a waste on Alfred. "So, my German friend," he said, taking a different approach, "how was dear Elizaveta?"

Gilbert slumped. "God, don't bring that up. That girl," he pointed over to where the Hungarian was looking at photos on Kiku's camera and choking back a scream, "is a wolf in sheep's clothing."

"Hm, so you saw her without such a _covering_?" Francis's eyebrows shot up again.

Gilbert laughed bitterly. "Oh god no, she's insufferable and evil and just weird. I have new bruises and a concussion after Saturday. Every time I mentioned some other guy she shrieked and got a nosebleed." He rubbed his head, wincing as he hit a sore spot. "Don't ask. I did."

"Hm, Lovi and I made a pretty good team…" Antonio said dreamily. Gilbert just rolled his eyes.

"You're always on about Lovino, Tonio," Gilbert pointed out, "I don't know what any brother of Feliciano's could be like."

"Oh, he's hot tempered, curses too much, but he's so sweet~" Antonio sighed happily, but was mainly ignored.

Gilbert looked over at the council table, then back at his French friend, "So how'd they enjoy the stink bomb in the lounge last Wednesday?"

Francis smiled craftily. "I can't say the president was wildly pleased when he sat on it."

Gilbert slapped his knee, laughing. "Oh I wish I could have been there! He'd be all 'bloody hell' and then fall over!" Alfred was laughing too, picturing the same thing.

They started talking about all the pranks that the trio had fixed, or at least denied that they were carried out by them but that they happened to know all the logistics of. Lunch ended quickly, allowing students to back up their boxes and pick up their trays before leaving for third period. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief when no one was looking; glad he had evaded the topic that Francis was really trying to get at.

After the Bad Touch Trio cleared their trays, Gilbert whispered over to Francis. "They're going out, aren't they?"

The French teen replied promptly, "Of course."

Gilbert chuckled. "Knew it."

* * *

A/N: I just love the Bad Touch Trio, so I wanted them all to show up together... feel free to review and correct as many mistakes of mine that you see :)


	5. 5: Sweeter than Chocolate

A/N: Kiku uses some Engrish, so no, it's not a typo, it's his accent.

* * *

Alfred rubbed his hands in anticipation. He couldn't wait to show Arthur the drawing; sure that he would stare in awe for a bit before blustering that it was trash. Said Brit was going through his sketch book, pulling out a Cubist rendition of Peter, the only person who would give him a picture to draw off of.

Mr. Edelstein also looked relieved that the two were both in one piece, decided to open up the morning with a bit of the Feldman method. "I've decided to start the morning with a bit of open critique, who's first? Yes, Jones?" Alfred got up to bring his journal up front, stepping over Arthur's outstretched foot, sticking his tongue out at his 'rival' before showing off the drawing.

"All right, mine's charcoal and graphite on paper, and it's, really obviously, Kirkland's face, just so he can't say it's ugly." The president scowled as planned, but Alfred had caught the small smile Arthur had on when he saw it. Most of the class was fairly impressed, and as Alfred sat down he grinned mischievously at Arthur, who just muttered something about bloody gits under his breath.

As the other students went up, presenting their homework and talking briefly about it, Alfred scribbled something into a note. Once he finished, he folded it and carefully dropped it into Arthur's open bag. The owner of the bag was currently up presenting his work, focused on speaking rather than anything falling into his school pack.

Alfred smiled, feeling in his pocket for the flash drive. He couldn't wait until the next class and seeing everyone's bewildered faces when they realized that he had survived the weekend and even more so that they actually finished the assignment.

Working on his independent project, Alfred had an idea. In the giant hamburger, he added a tiny British flag, smaller than a penny and hidden, just so he could point it out later and be called a bloody git.

Still a little self-conscious about his embroidery, Arthur was almost hiding it behind some art history books on the table. He wanted to add something now, but what? A voice spoke up next to him, startling Arthur. "How about a big stars and stripes?"

Arthur whirled around, facing the ash blonde American. He shot right back, "Why don't you add a Union Jack to yours, Jones?"

The athlete winked. "I already did. Your turn."

Arthur glanced over and picked it out of the drawing, scowling. "What man in his right mind would even think about eating one of those disgusting American grease cakes?"

"Hamburgers are great! They're like a whole meal on a bun!" Alfred said, defending his favorite food.

"Yes, a completely unhealthy, tasteless meal."

"Says the boy raised on British cooking."

"British cooking is some of the finest in the world, you git!"

"You wish.

"Why you…."

As usual, the argument piqued no interest with their class, as everyone just chalked it up to the daily routine. Mr. Edelstein just shook his head, wondering why they couldn't have just stayed home. He began practicing on the piano again, thinking of how Vasch might like this variation of C major…

"Sit down, you ingrates!" The Swiss teacher yelled, silencing the twittering crowd. "I expect that I have received everyone's assignment?"

"Yes, sir." They replied in a tired unison. Everyone in class looked relatively amazed, to think that the two had survived each other long enough to complete an MP3. Elizaveta was almost ready to pass out from a nosebleed, while Gilbert groaned and gave her a tissue to help.

The class was boring and strict as usual, except when both Alfred and Arthur's hands collided when they grabbed the same pencil, both dropping it at once and returning to work, slightly flushed. The poor Hungarian nearly fainted until Gilbert just grumbled something about yaoi fan girls and handed her another tissue.

Alfred caught Arthur in the hubbub as the day ended, placing a hand on his shoulder. Arthur turned around, glaring and putting up a good act.

"What is it, git?" Arthur's tone was flawless; being angry at Alfred was nothing new.

"I just thought you should know-," Alfred concluded in a quieter voice, "-check your bag when you get home-." He winked. "-just how annoying you are!"

Arthur caught the implication. "The same to you, bloody useless American!" he yelled back as he stormed off….with a secret smile on his face.

_I'll keep you my dirty little secret_

_Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret_

_My dirty little secret_

_Who needs to know?_

Alfred walked out of the building, passing through the iron entrance gates and crossing the road to the student lot. As he pulled his keys out and unlocked the door of his pickup, he smiled. It looked like he'd have a guest to help him eat the cake he had made after all. That Sunday, Alfred had put his cooking skills to the test, making dessert after dessert in order to finally be rid of his obsession. He'd amassed a collection so large that even the American himself couldn't finish it. Well, not that he couldn't, but with track season on the way so he had to stay trim.

The spring scenery flickered past as he drove home, leaving him to his own thoughts. He marveled at how easily it had been for them once they realized how they cared. He'd expected Arthur to be a little more reluctant, but deep down, Arthur must have realized it too, somewhere along the way. And he was so glad he did.

Arthur emptied out his bag on the table as soon as he got inside, swiftly locating the piece of paper. He started to read:

_Hey Artie,_

_Come over around 7. Say Zwingli's making you redo something. I've got a surprise too. Bring a change of clothes ;)_

_Yours truly,_

_Epic Amazing Awesome-man_

His face reddened. He hoped the surprise and clothes were unrelated. Stuffing the note in his pocket, he set off at his homework, a short paper on Renaissance Italy. Thank god his brothers were still out drinking, even if it meant they would be ten times as awful when they got back. He sighed, feeling butterflies in his stomach as he thought about Alfred.

The American had just finished setting the table when he heard a knock at the door. Smiling, he ran and opened it, seeing his British boyfriend on the porch. Acting surprised, he said, "I'm sorry, but I really think it was 1776 _June _Street that keeps calling for you."

Arthur smirked. "Should I go there instead?"

"No." Alfred kissed him briefly on the lips, tasting tea and burnt scones. "Come on in."

"Bloody hell, don't just kiss me out here; wait until I get inside." Arthur was blushing, a sight that made Alfred want to hug him. The Brit continued inside, almost stopping dead in his tracks when he saw a fancy table with candles on it.

"Well, dessert awaits, Mr. Kirkland." Alfred said, gesturing with a superfluous wave of his hand.

"Y-You bloody git…Is this where all that chocolate went?" Arthur stuttered.

"Yep! I did have to ask Francis for some instructions on bits here and there, but you'd better help me eat it or I won't get onto track team." Alfred was pumped with excess energy.

Arthur just rolled his eyes. "Alfred Jones, second best. Well, perish the thought."

"Come on, Artie, let's eat."

The entire table was covered in a feast with everything from chocolate cake to éclairs, making their mouths water. They sat down and dived into the feast. Arthur had to admit, it wasn't that bad, even enjoyable. The candles lit on the table set a rather romantic mood; Alfred had done well.

When almost everything was finished and both were drowsy after the great meal, Alfred got out of his seat and lifted the Brit up. Arthur protested, Alfred laughed and carried him over to the couch. They crashed on it, snuggling together and too lazy to do much. Arthur had his head on Alfred's shoulder, still sitting in his lap, while Alfred had his arms around the Brit, holding him close. The American inhaled the sweet smell of lavender again, soothing himself and nuzzling the top of his lover's head. Arthur pressed closer to the athlete's toned neck, tan and warm.

Alfred spoke in a low, dreamy voice. "I love you, Arthur."

Arthur just buried his face in the other's shoulder. "I love you too, Alfred."

Sitting together was too tempting. Familiar want seized Alfred as he tilted Arthur's head with a hand, kissing him passionately, exchanging feelings and need with the Brit, heating up and muffling any hurt.

They broke apart after a minute, catching their breath and staring into each other's eyes, light sky meeting a meadow green. Alfred hugged his lover to himself, pulling him back into a comfortable snuggle. "Arthur?"

"Yes, Alfred?" Arthur put his hands around Alfred's, clasped at his waist.

" Y'know, I've always wanted to do this. Ever since I met you, the first day of school. Do you remember that?"

"How could I forget? You stole my desk and I told you off rather horribly."

Alfred laughed lightly. "You called me an 'ignorant, cotton-headed git'."

"Point taken."

"But you know, I've always been afraid of losing you, because all we saw of each other was at school, and I just decided it be easier to…" Alfred trailed off, taking a deep, calm breath.

"To lock away what you're feeling?" Arthur could sympathize. He burrowed into Alfred's shirt, "I don't know if it got to the grape vine, but I've had quite the rough upbringing. My brothers would beat me up, my parents would fight and no one was happy. I had to be tough to survive, so that's why I…I suppose I never showed what I was really thinking."

"Except to me." Alfred said, squeezing Arthur tighter, "You always called me exactly the name you meant."

"Yeah…" Arthur said, closing his eyes sleepily, resting his head on Alfred's shoulder. It was quiet for a few minutes, and when Alfred looked down, the student council president, Arthur Kirkland, was asleep in his arms. He just smiled, closing his own eyes and drifting off.

When one of the pair awoke, it was dark outside, stars visible through wisps of clouds. Arthur felt the urge to get home, but Alfred became semiconscious long enough to pull him down beside him, holding him close like a teddy bear. Arthur just gave up trying, sinking back into sleep.

They lay together, peaceful and unbroken. As the wind blew outside and swept clouds across the sky, the rhythmic breathing of the two echoing through the house. Arthur Kirkland, the abused child and president of the student council, and Alfred F. Jones, former addict and star athlete with a previously unrequited love, had finally had found each other after so long of living apart and denying themselves. But in this moment, both were absolutely, finally complete.

A week later…

Francis Bonnefoy strode down the hallways of Hetalia International, afternoon light steaming through the tall windows. Lazily glancing out at the campus, he watched the track team jog around the football field, noting the occasional particularly pretty girl or a rather muscular guy. Catching site of the familiar American, he chuckled.

Arthur shouted down the hallway. "Council meeting to start in _five _minutes, frog!" Grumbling, the Brit had poked his head out from behind the conference room door to order his vice president back.

Francis waved. "_Oui, _Monsieur President, I'm just looking at your boyfriend run."

Arthur turned red when he heard this, but immediately denied it. "What are you on about, frog? Get in here!"

The council meeting ended up being as boring as always, discussing the new clubs that wanted to form, the next school dance, not to mention the girls of the council chatting about scandals between teachers. Apparently, from what Arthur overheard, a certain piano-playing art teacher and a strict English teacher seemed to get along fairly well outside of school.

Once the meeting was finished, Arthur left the room to go to the council's break room, where he had left his bag. Once inside the nicely-furnished rec room, he proceeded to stuff his folder of SCA documents in his bag, until he saw-

Alfred. Passed out on the couch, still in his track clothes. Sighing, Arthur flicked his lover on the forehead, getting an immediate response.

"Ow! Hey, cut it out." Alfred said as he woke up, rubbing the stinging place on head.

"You're not even supposed to be here, after all, you're not student council, you git." Arthur scolded, turning back to his bag.

"Well," Arthur felt a pair of arms encircle his chest, "do close friends count?"

"S-Sod off, git, we're in the break room, no funny business." Arthur stammered as Alfred rested his head on the Brit's shoulder.

"Hm, but I've been waiting…"

"You've been asleep."

"It's not like anyone's going to come and get us." Alfred's lips brushed Arthur's ear and he shivered.

"Just…fine." Arthur turned a bit so he could look at the American. Alfred took his chance, kissing the Brit before he could say "bloody hell, sod off".

On the other side of the door, Francis was waiting with Kiku. Guessing what was going on, they had wisely decided to wait outside. The Japanese boy was blushing furiously, while Francis just looked pleased with himself.

_Oh, most certainly going out, _Francis thought, _I just can't wait to see his face when he figures out everyone knows. _

"Honestry, I just wanted to get my bag, I had no idea I would run into something so…immodest." Kiku said quietly,

"Hm, so I would guess you know about it too, _mon ami_?" Francis questioned.

Kiku sighed. "I had guessed this. It was simple enough to deduct."

Elizaveta, the treasurer, came up beside them. "I'm guessing they're…." She said, then pointing at the door and raising her eyebrows.

Francis and Kiku only nodded in agreement. Elizaveta just sighed and propped herself against the wall. Normally she would have a killer nosebleed right now, but she'd run across this so much it barely affected her anymore. "It's like they think no one else knows."

Francis chuckled with a French _honhonhon. _"Of course, _mon cher, _but of course, everyone knows."

Kiku shook his head. "It's so brindingry obvious that most know by now."

"I suppose. But do they not know that it's all been blown wide open?" The Hungarian girl reasoned.

"Oh, dear Alfred knows, but he's keeping it a secret from poor Monsieur Kirkland. It's rather hilarious really, the only one who wants to know, doesn't!" Francis chuckled again.

The two lovers inside the room were being fairly quiet, but every now and then a small moan would escape from the other side of the doors, causing those outside to look a little embarrassed, save for Francis.

A loud, obnoxious voice called from down the hallway. "Hey, birdies! I left my stuff in that room so clear out so I can go get it, yeah!" Francis looked over.

"Oh look, it seems my obnoxious German friend has come to get into the room. Oh well, I'd better-"

But before anyone could stop him, Gilbert flung open the doors, resulting into a long, awkward silence as he stared, then closed the doors and backed away, slowly before running back in the direction he came from. Arthur immediately started cursing, Alfred immediately tried to calm him down, and the others outside immediately tried to hold back fits of laughter. In time, of course, things would settle back down, once Gilbert exposed the story that had long since been widely known, Francis stopped taunting the two quite as much and Elizaveta slowly found another gay relationship to spy on. Alfred and Arthur never broke up, bringing a new meaning to "love across boundaries", and only making their lives that much sweeter, even better than chocolate.

* * *

A/N: How's that? This was fun to write, post-chocolate-Easter bunny depression, so I felt very Alfred. I wrote this chapter because one of my proofreaders (read: pushy friends) wanted the secret to be blown to the school. The last scene is loosely based off the doujin Doubt!, which is a USUK. I was out of ideas, so I got inspired off of it. Review please


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